


The Hungrier Troll

by BaronVonChop



Category: Vermintide, Warhammer Fantasy
Genre: Alcohol, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, POV Second Person, Taverns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-14 15:43:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18951103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaronVonChop/pseuds/BaronVonChop
Summary: Once they finished saving the world, The Ubersreik Five opened a tavern. You decide to go check it out.





	The Hungrier Troll

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta readers for help with this story! Any remaining issues are on me.

You have heard folk tell of the Hungrier Troll...

* * *

They say that, once all the Skaven and Northlanders were defeated and the whole End Times thing finally blew over, the Ubersreik Five decided to open a tavern. They had two things in abundance with which to decorate: weapons and Skaven bodies.

It took them a few tries to get the ambiance right. After Saltzpyre got a little carried away with the taxidermy, Kerillian pointed out that dead Skaven should probably not outnumber the customers. And though Kruber felt like there was no upper limit to how many weapons they could hang on the walls, Bardin had to voice his concerns about the building’s structural integrity when the beams started creaking.

They compromised by allowing Saltzpyre and Kruber to create a unique coat rack by the door. Saltzpyre assembled a full rat ogre, then Kruber skewered it with an assortment of blunted blades from which customers could hang their coats. When some of the first customers complained that the coat rack was scaring their children, Kerillian endeavored to make it look like it was smiling. When the complaints increased, Sienna put a bag over its head and drew a happy face on it. The effect was odd to say the least, but it had the intended effect, to the point where Saltzpyre would sometimes have to chase children away from climbing on it.

Fritz Lohner helped with the paperwork, but he left the running of the tavern to the Five, declaring that it was time for them to return the favor.

* * *

As your travels bring you closer to the Hungrier Troll, you meet others traveling there as well. You share meals, and you swap stories. Some travel to see the heroes who played such an instrumental role in saving the Empire. Many want to see the tavern itself. It was not every day you eat bar snacks out of a Stormvermin helmet (each of which Sienna has scoured with flames to kill any fleas), or see unique artwork on the walls. Nevermind that the images frequently depict gruesome scenes: Saltzpyre has added purity seals over the more disturbing bits, to the point where some of them have rows of purity seals from one side of the frame to the other.

Nearing the tavern, you speak to the locals, and hear them extoll its bustling atmosphere, its friendly (if eccentric) staff, and its astonishingly wide selection of drinks. Each of the Five has traveled, and they import a variety of beverages from the corners of the Empire and beyond. The drinks menu comes in two varieties: iron-bound tomes chained to the bar, and fat scrolls that, if fully unwound, stretch the length of the tavern. As Bardin and Kerillian were unable to decide which option was better, they compromised and did both.

One thing everyone agrees on is that, no matter which of the Five served you, you wIll have a memorable experience.

* * *

You finally reach the Hungrier Troll as the sun is beginning to set. Light shines from its windows, and you hear a merry cacophony spilling from inside.

You enter and hang your coat on the famous coatrack. You recognize a few acquaintances from the road. They raise their mugs and glasses to you in friendly acknowledgement, and you nod back. Before you can join them, you should procure a drink of your own.

You approach the bar and are greeted by Kerillian. Being an immortal elf, she looks nearly the same as she did while she was fighting the Skaven.

“For you, mayfly, this red wine from the Morceaux Valley is definitely the best.”

How flattering that she has offered you the best drink in the tavern!

Kerillian scoffs. “Did I say it was the best in the tavern? I said it’s the best for _you_.”

Perhaps an ale would be more to your liking. Kruber stands as tall as ever, though his mustache and chops are white and he keeps his receding hair bristly-short. He fills several tankards for a group of young soldiers wearing Kruber’s Ironshields livery before walking you through the tavern’s selection of ales.

“Hm, let’s see, ah yes, here’s a good one! It tastes like ale. Here’s another excellent choice. It also tastes like ale. And here’s a personal favorite of mine. Tastes like ale, only moreso!”

You think perhaps Bardin will have a more helpful description of some choices. The dwarf is a little stouter than he was in his traveling days, and his beard is longer, with streaks of gray that form patterns in their braids.

“Oho, are you looking for something that will burn in your belly like molten gold and make you feel as strong as a pillar of gromril? Something that will singe your nostril hairs just from sniffing it?”

That sounds good to you.

“That is, of course, only if you can handle the strong stuff! You can, can’t you?”

You’ve won a few drinking contests in your day, as a matter of fact.

“That’s the spirit! Right then, come this way! First, I’ll need you to sign this… just a formality, basically just saying you won’t hold the tavern responsible for any injury or illness, mm, that sort of thing. And don’t forget to list your next of kin there. Here is an index of the various things that might befall someone of a weaker constitution… wait, where are you going?”

Sienna bakes the tavern’s famous pies and pastries, only ever-so-slightly scorched to add a little crunch. The way she spikes her hair makes it look like a white-hot flame. You help yourself to a steaming hot pie while still mulling over what to drink.

“Care for something to wash it down? Well, I have just the thing! Some brandy from Estalia, just arrived this morning! What, you don’t think brandy goes with pie? Darling, brandy goes with everything!”

Saltzpyre seems your only remaining option. He seems to have hardly aged at all, perhaps because he was already bald and gaunt to begin with. “So, of the various wines and spirits, ales and beers, none have tempted your palate? Well, I may have just the thing for you! I brew it here in the tavern, and I watch it for any sign of taint or blight! Never have I lost a single batch to corruption!” He hands you a small glass of clear liquid. It looks like it could almost be water, except you detect the scent of peaches. You toss it back, too late to hear the calls from the other four:

“Halt!”

“Wait, lumberfoot!”

“Not the grimgigorog!”

“Oh, this should be good!”

It hits you like Sigmar’s hammer. As the world sways, you remember with gratitude that the tavern has rooms for rent as well...


End file.
